


Rewind

by ShinkirouSacril



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Dean, Dubious Consent, M/M, Promiscuous Dean, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 05:19:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2376161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinkirouSacril/pseuds/ShinkirouSacril
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if, they were given a fresh start?<br/>At what cost?<br/>Would it have made any difference?<br/>Was it...worth it?</p><p>Season 10 premiers in October. So I hereby challenge myself to finish this story before the latest season emotionally bludgeon me left right and center.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rewind: 2005

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Well as mentioned unfortunately I’m anticipating a whole lot of Sam whump and not much Dean whump for season 10, i.e. I’m not in control. The boys and all other characters belongs to Kripke and Co. Nothing (monetary) is gained from this fic, only a personal sense of satisfaction (and hopefully some feedback and kudos).
> 
> Forgive me for a little cannon divergence. Was written sometime towards the end of season 9. I’m a major Dean whump fan. Whumping Sam as the series had been so inclined recently is simply not my cup of tea (i.e. NOOOOO!).

The room was dark; a wet, moldy smell of your average cheap motel. It held a familiar quality. Had he been here before?

"Cas?" Dean tried to summon his memories. Well, last that he recalled, he was with Castiel. So saturated with booze he probably couldn't tell the beige of the trench coat from the skin of the angel's face. "Cas, come on, man! This isn't funny." His voice sounded a little "off", but Dean just brushed it off as too much booze or something. After all, he had other more worrying issues to concern himself with. Like for instance how he got into this room when he was absolutely positive, drunk as he was, that he was knocked out in another.

Slowly like a disjointed album, fragments came to mind.

One sentence would have sent him reeling, had he not already been lying in bed. "Please, I'd give anything, anything other than Sam, to go back to the beginning." A fleeting moment of clarity under the fog of the Mark.

Seemed like things had finally gotten too much. That fissure between him and Sam well on its way to becoming the Marianas-fucking-Trench.  When once they had trusted one another with everything they had, now they could barely talk to one another without nervous shifts and awkward lapses of silence.

So Dean found companionship in the bottle and eradication of the unknown, as he did with Lisa and Ben. And then he had asked that of Castiel. "Do you truly desire this?" Dean could barely picture the face, yet those soulful blues stared out from murky depths in a sorrowful gaze.  It made him sick. Dean thought he remembered Castiel mentioning how this was something that could not be undone once it was done.

Suddenly it hit home what exactly had he asked of Cas. Too much.

"Cas?" Dean tried again, this time chocking on his own words. He sounded small, like a lost child. The cry bounced off empty walls. No one told him whether was Castiel dead or merely incarcerated. Whether was it God's will or his own wishes. None of that mattered now. Dean just _knew._ He'd lost Cas.

"There's a limit to how far I can bring you." Dean had been in enough illusions, enough supernaturally-induced dreams. Hope as he may, this felt far too real.

In the dark one crystal droplet rolled down the corner of Dean's eyes, skin once again youthful and wrinkle free. Dean needed not even look at the papers. He knew exactly where he was.

October, 2005.

Dad went hunting a few days ago. He would send the coordinates soon. Brady burnt Jessica alive just a few days later. It's weird, really. So un-Cas to have fulfilled his demand. If it were Cas at all, that was. Without the usual nag on Heaven and Hell, Angels and Demons. Although it's not like persuasion would have much use when he could not even _feel_ half the time.

No time to worry about that though. He's got work to do.

He was so not going to drag Sam from his bubble this time round. One lifetime of guilt and all that crap was enough. But the white lady still needed taking care of.

Not like it was difficult at all. He was male, alone, in a car. Just drive her home, then drive into her home. Sammy may have all the smarts, but _this_ Dean had the experience. The sheriff's office posed a little more challenge, without Sam's well-timed call and everything. But Dean came prepared. So yeah, a few contacts and favors here and there, grabbed the journal, got out intact.

By the time everything was over, it was the wee hours of the morning. November 1st.

No sooner was Dean behind the wheel he found himself headed in the direction of Palo Alto. Yeah, right, who was he kidding? Besides, it was not like Sam would pick up his call anyway. He knew the road as well as any other. After all, it's not like he had never had jobs nearby.

The apartment was not on fire. Dean took it as a good sign.

The stairway was a desolate silence, though reasonably well-lit. Everything just seemed so normal, but experience warned Dean any calm was simply a prelude to one fucked up mega-storm. Classic Winchester fortune.

The door was slightly ajar, and behind it stood three familiar figures. Dean didn't comprehend what Brady was talking about, as he barged straight in and tackled the latter to the ground. He honestly didn't care what was going on between the trio, just couldn't stay there, with full knowledge of what Brady was. Next up, holy water. Sam had a look of equal proportions shock and disbelief at first. Jess just froze there, unable to react. Thankfully the younger Winchester realized the direness of their situation as the holy water sizzled and steamed. Some violent struggle, an exorcism spell, and they've got a dead body in the middle of the living room.

Jess subsequently collapsed onto her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. Yay, there goes Sammy's entire "keeping girlfriend in the dark about the family business" life choice. Dean rolled his eyes as Sam rushed to comfort Jess. At least he still had a girlfriend to comfort this time round.

"Hey, you guys got a big enough suitcase?" Dean asked, only to be met with Sam's bitchface as his brother mouthed a "not now!". Dean forced a grin, almost on reflex. There was Jess, still sobbing and heaving into Sam's chest. Yeah, figures, they'd need some time. As the adrenaline wore off, Dean felt someplace inside himself hurt. He could not tell where, just that something didn't seem right. "I'll be out for a walk. If you guys need me, Sammy knows my number." Salt and burn, Sam would know what to do with Brady’s body.

Gravel crunched beneath hunting boots. Dean zoned out on the directions till the neon signs lit up his face. Some bar, a crowd equal parts trendy and unsavory. Ah well, not like he was feeling particularly picky at the moment. The music was deafening, the sickly saccharine of drugs clung to the fermented sourness trademark of stale beer. Dean felt a line of sight upon him, and traced it back to some stranger in a corner. So tall, almost taller than Sammy, with a distinct college-boy (or was it boy-scout) aura about him. And blue, blue eyes. Dean did not as a rule bang dudes, much less bottom. But current circumstances were as far from "usual" as their family business.

Dean suppressed the sense of revolt as he swallowed another guy. And it really hurt like a sonofabitch when he was split open, most likely without sufficient prep. But for the moment he was rendered incapable of thinking about Cas, no longer guessing the angel's whereabouts. He could temporarily neglect the entire crap about Lucifer and the trials and the Mark and everything in between. About how he could, _should_ face Sam from the beginning, when he'd already had knowledge of so much.

If his lips were swollen or he walked more bowlegged than usual, Sam most certainly did not mention it. He stood by the impala with Jess, hand in hand. Told Dean they had burnt Brady, and that they had better take Jess to Bobby's.

"And dude, where's Dad?"

"Went on a hunting trip. Hadn't heard from him in a few days."

Sam frowned and gave that trademark disapproving face, "Dude that's so unlike you! Like you're not worried or anything."

"I'm...twenty-six, Sammy. I can handle myself.” Dean shot back. Damn him for having a smartass little brother with freakish IQ, and a curiosity to match that of a cat's. "Besides, Dad sends coordinates."

"And what's that mark on your neck?" Sam asked out of the blue, almost accusingly. That blindsided Dean. He couldn't remember the stranger in the bar having ever put his mouth anywhere in the vicinity of his neck. And he was always careful when performing favors. Then he recalled the woman in white (Constance was it?) trying to strangle him. He gave a shrug, "It's nothing." If Sam looked unconvinced, he certainly decided to give it a pass.

Dean really had to give it to Jess. Even in face of a near brush with death, she was relatively composed, enough so that at moments it looked as though she was comforting Sam rather than the other way round. This entire incident was hard on them both, Dean could tell as much. What with Sammy staring blankly out of the window and Jess zoning out time and again. After all, Brady had been a longtime friend. His possession just rudely shook Sam out of his illusion of "normal life".

However, there was _something_ amiss. Dean prided himself in having a good hunch. Right now intuition told him something was going wrong. The again, without proof, it could merely be paranoia. After all, who knew what changed when he travelled back?

They dropped Jess off at Bobby's. Dean left Sam at the mercy of their surrogate-father's reprimands on how his "carelessness could get this young lady killed. And yourself too, idjit!" Dean nearly bit through his cheek to curb the cry/laugh at seeing Bobby once again. _Awesome_ , now he had caught Sam's "girly-ness".  Dad sent the coordinates sometime in the midst of this entire ordeal. Dean couldn't even remember if it were the same as _before_. So he checked. Blackwater. Wendigo it was.

Dean was pretty determined not to get Sam involved, now that they had a fresh chance. Maybe without Sam there with him on this hunting life, the eventually widening rift between them wouldn't hurt that much. However as he headed towards the Impala, there was his little brother--not so little, Dean had to remind himself--in the passenger seat.

"Sammy, get out!"

"I'm not letting you go alone." Sam sounded like a petulant kid, as though he had never left for Stanford. Hell, with those eyes it was as though he had never crossed puberty. Dean once again marveled at how Sam managed that despite his Sasquatch size.

"Here's where you should be." Dean pointedly jabbed a finger towards the house. "Here. With Jess. She needs you." He emphasized.

"No, she needs protection. Please, Dean. I _can't_ just sit here and do nothing. Not when those _creatures_ won't leave me or anyone around me alone. Please, just help me get back to hunting." Damn those puppy eyes and boyish curls and that soft, innocent look Sam was ever so apt at. Dean reluctantly acceded to the driver's seat and started the engine.

All's well. He had to comfort himself. He had Sam back at his side, with a lot less blood and fire and anguish. Sam's now back to hunting and not fueled by revenge like Dad.

Dean was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.


	2. Rewind: 2006-

The other shoe dropped somewhere between Oklahoma and Illinois.

If his memory still served him, Dean was positive Sam had insisted upon going back to Lawrence to check up on their childhood home sometime after that incident with the bugs. Yep, Sam still suffered those premonitory nightmares. Nope, Sam did not even mention Lawrence, much less insist upon the visit.

"See, there's nothing happening here." They still came nonetheless, though this time round it was at Dean's insistence. It was, after all, one chance for Sam and Mom to meet each other.

He missed Mom.

Alas, Dean was no psychic, and all that effort was for naught. There was indeed a Jenny with her two kids. That was about it. No poltergeist, no Mom. Nope, none, nada.

"Dean, do you like, want to talk about anything? You know that if you need..." Awesome. Now Sammy-girl's pushing for one of those chick-flick moments again. Dean wanted to bang his head against the steering wheel, the only thing stopping him was the recognition that this action was simply too unmanly. "Stop. No chick-flick or drama. Dad's just sent the coordinates. We've work to do." Well, not yet, but Dean supposed there's no harm in telling a little white lie that would lead them down the same road anyway. _Though whoever guaranteed that it would be the same road?_ In retrospect all that assumptions seemed laughably naive. Since when was it that simple being a Winchester?

Initially it was just the little differences. Failing to save an individual here, saving an extra person there. And then there was the phone call.

It came shortly after they took care of the Benders. No big deal, once Dean remembered it was the little girl who did him in the first time round. Still got roughened up a little, but towards the end Dean even managed a laugh. Yeah Jared Bender. He recalled an alternate universe where Sam was known as a something called Jared… _what again?_ Well, just you wait, Sammy, just you wait.

The lady cop let them off, as expected. The cold, damp trek back to the Impala remained unpleasant, even after experiencing the Purgatory. Finally, Dean was back behind the wheel of his baby, just revving up the engine and all was well and merry.

And then Sam's phone rang. Although technically it had accumulated a few missed calls during the past few hours. One ought to know it was hard taking a call while being trapped in a cage and evading human hunters and all that.

Dean saw Sam's face morph into a look of pure panic. He could literally observe the blood draining from his brother's complexion. Heard the tremors in Sam's screams for "Jess!" And then, just like in those classic soaps, the phone slipped out of those huge paws, clattered upon the dirt road as though in slow motion.

Except this was not at all sappy, or funny. Because it was all too real.

Dean pushed open the passenger door non-too-gently. One short, clipped, "Get in, we're going to Bobby's." And Sam mechanically complied. They sped all the way to Sioux Falls.

Singer Salvage Yard, or what remained anyway, may best be described as "nothing much to salvage". Everything was burnt to crisps. One would not even be able to tell the difference between any human remains and that of the house, or even car parts. Bobby and Jess were nowhere to be found.

Dean was struck with a sense of wicked _deja vu_. It was like the Roadhouse all over. Except they had yet to even meet the Harvelles. Now Dean questioned if the Harvelles were even alive after the rewind, or was it that they would still meet somewhere down the road? For now he and Sam just stood dumbfounded amongst the still-smoking carnage, uncertain of what to do.

Miraculously they found Jess's engagement ring. Sam just broke down upon seeing it. Crying, choking and the whole mess. Just repeating the mantra, "I heard her die, Dean! I heard her die!" and then he started lashing out, “How are you so calm, Dean?! How are you so calm when Bobby may well be dead?" Dean found himself struggling to find an appropriate response. _How could he tell Sam he's been through that before? That this time it hurts so much, he couldn't even get tears to fall?_ So what else could Dean do but hug Sam to his chest, drag him away from the devastation, the fumes. Telling him that it would be alright? Just like a decade ago?

"Shouldn't we tell Dad?" It was Sam who brought it up, incidentally. Dean just replied a "yeah" absentmindedly. Right, Dad. He's still alive at this point of time.

So just like before, Sam was angsty and grieving when they met Dad. Meg happened. YED happened. Dean _knew_ about the truck. And the fucking S.O.B. injured his throat and the truck crashed into them early. He fucking knew about Dad's deal. But thing was, he didn't know _where_ Dad made the deal, and failed to account for Death tripping him up at every turn. By the time he got there, Dean could only watch helplessly as the YED took the colt. And was subsequently propelled back into his body.

In the end it was as though nothing changed. Jess died. Dad died. Mom's long dead. Except that the details were different. It was like there was the gist but there was no script, and he had to live with the certainty that something was definitely going to happen, yet without the benefit of knowing what caused it and how to stop the occurrence.

There's a saying, that anticipation was the worst.

After that...well Croatoan was particularly memorable, though not in a pleasant way. Dean could have spared the man. But it was like Ouroboros really. The changes in details later would in all possibility negate the effects of what little ripple his actions made. Besides, he wanted to avoid any further complications. That was what Dean told himself as he pulled the trigger. He had long since learnt only something major--like apocalyptic major--could make any ultimate difference.

It was not like he could do another rewind of this and end up where he began. Before this time-travel mess. For a moment when Sam pleaded with Dean to just shoot him, Dean actually contemplated doing exactly as his brother asked. It could be so simple. Two bullets, and all ends there. No fury against Heaven and Hell (though Dean surmised the latter probably already held a grudge against himself). No Hell's gate, no fate intertwined with the apocalypse.

In retrospect, Dean was glad he didn't.

Afterwards it was the entire crap-fest with the "special children". The usual _rough dealings_ here and there. What happened between was pretty inconsequential. They went to the Roadhouse, the Roadhouse went out in an explosion. And they found Bobby to be alive.

Point was, once again he failed to save Sam. Sure, they made it there earlier, but they didn't account for Andy's betrayal. To the everyday folks, not wanting to die really had an allure. Dean had fought fellow hunters, shot off demons, and once again a step too late in reaching Sam as Jake plunged the blade in.

This time there was no talks with Bobby or Ellen. Dean made a beeline for the crossroads. He may come to regret his choice; however what else could he do? It's not like he'd know where to find Death, and not like screaming skywards would be of much use.

It was when Sam asked him about the deal--Dean would say it was more like _interrogated--_ did Dean realize that even when time rewound, he still couldn't find it in himself to lie to his brother. He simply shrugged, bit his tongue to stop the "yeah, yeah, I've heard all that before" from spilling out.

Yet all that happened thus far also presented a glimmer of hope. If all went according to whatever script that was intended for them, perhaps he and Cas could start from the beginning. That he would soon meet Cas.


	3. Rewind: 2007-2008

Ruby was...expected, to say the least. Dean had anticipated her appearance for a while now. He knew to be wary of her. For she was the one ultimately responsible for the release of Lucifer.

What Dean failed to account for, was how she managed to bewitch Sam.

No other reason whatsoever for Sam to be so enamoured by her. It's like some sick, twisted version of "love at first sight". Gosh, Sam actively defended Ruby from him. That ought to be proof enough.

It was not like he could just walk up to Sam and tell him the entire time-travel saga, and concluding with, "Yes, I've been there, and Ruby's evil." Crazy as their lives had been, Sam would not believe him till he himself had been through this sort of thing.

So yeah, Dean knew Ruby was bad news. But Sam was surreptitious. So he could only watch, like riding shotgun in a runaway car, knowing the inevitable crash yet incapable of doing anything more than wait for the wreck. He didn't know what the duo was up to. Hell he did not even have a clue as to when Sam and Ruby met without raising the younger Winchester's ire. Didn't mean Dean did not try. A few good favours here and there and he got some rough idea of what was going on. Sam probably had more important things on his mind to notice anything out of ordinary with his gait or lips.

Yet there was still the countdown, that knife above his head.

There wasn't a particular moment he could isolate and recognize as _the one_ when the chasm between Sam and himself just _appeared_. Maybe when Ruby came about, but with no certainty.

Dean thought they were doing okay.

Somehow, Dean had a hunch that this time round, Heaven and Hell likely worked differently from conventional knowledge, or his personal experience, judging by how the events unfolded. Pity, though, that all he had were just unfounded assumptions, for which he had no proof. His hunches unfortunately did not operate like Sam's nightmares. Sometimes they were just unfounded paranoia. Sure, he still wondered if the being he brought back was "100% Sam". But so far according to his monitoring Sam was not yet putting Ruby before his brother in terms of priority. Then again, this time round things worked a little differently.

Good news was that they did not lose the Colt to Bela at the crucial moment, which meant no "So next time? We go with my plan" moment for the bitch. And the little virgin at the station was probably alive.

Bad news was somehow they still ended up in the boiling pot known as FBI Special Agent Henriksen. There was the big reveal that ended with Henriksen possessed, the climax being them fighting their way out, and the resolution being Henriksen reporting back about an accident involving Sam and Dean Winchester. In summary, Henriksen's dead, and the Winchesters were officially deceased on paper.

And then Dean's dead, for real.

"You know, that angel boyfriend of yours really messed things up." Same agonizing heat, same bloody meat-hooks. The sulphur was thick as ever, choking up his windpipes and alveoli. Dean felt himself suffocate even though he knew breathing was more of a want than a need. He was rather upset to find that it was still Alastair whom he faced.

"A pity, you're still here." Dean spat out through the blood welling up his throat, "Besides, Cas and I, we're not in _that_ kind of a relationship."

Alastair did not even acknowledge him. Just went on with his monologue. "See, Darling, he messed with _time_. And no one can perfectly turn back time. Sure, your world's okay. But high-up and down here. Dean, you must be glad to know that it's all chaos. Every demon, devil, archangel...you get the gist. They want to get at you." Alastair leaned in, whispered those last few words inches from Dean's face, enjoyed the way Dean's nose and brows scrunched up from the nauseating combination of decay and sulphur. All around them, an endless vastness of red on black, screams and dripping limbs. Jagged fibres soaked in liquid where the flesh was brutally torn from bone. The occasional dash of ivory as brain matters spilled.

Souls flayed to their very cores.

Even at such dire moments, Dean could not help but think of Cas. If the supernatural were already so angry at _Dean_ for all that mess, what of Cas?

"Dean, Dean, Dean-o." Alastair continued to taunt, circled Dean like a predator to prey. "You know, your angel boyfriend did all these to save you. Save your life, salvage your soul. Not for heaven, not for mission, not for your plea to somehow save Sammy's mind. No no no, he sacrificed himself so that you, Dean Winchester, may be saved. How ironic, that the wrath he unleashed is now funnelled at you." Dean creased his brows. Save him? Sure he was a little psychologically strained when he approached Cas that night, first blade and all. But he would not have considered his _life_ to be in danger and in need of rescue?

"And you? It's all about Sammy. Just giving away your life like nothing, once again. I'm certain the silly little angel will be mighty glad to see you where you are now." Alastair seemed to be in rather high spirits. Dean just stared the demon down nonchalantly. Or he might have sneered. He was in shock because what had transpired was just too much revelations at once with insufficient clarifications. What was it with Cas sacrificing himself. It was impossible, right? After all, only an angel (or Angel Blade) was capable of dispatching an angel for good.

Then again, "time reversal" was not exactly an angel's standard repertoire either.

Dean eventually broke under Alastair, once again. He would deny any contribution from the demon's revelations at the beginning of his stay. Everyone knew that demons lie. Yet deep down Dean was aware that on a subconscious level, he was affected. At the very least, it raised the prospect that without Castiel, it was plausible he was looking at an eternity in this place.

Ironically, just as he lost all hope, Dean was revived.

Standing in the desolate wilderness, amidst overturned earth and straw, Dean was unsure if he should laugh hysterically or scream. In the end, he still headed towards Bobby's. New place, of course. Bobby really only set it up after he died. Still easier than finding Sam.

The sense of betrayal was so phenomenal words could not begin to describe it as Dean instantly recognized the girl who opened the door as Ruby 2.0. He swore that bitch smirked as she left. It really hurt then, when Sam splashed him. With the knowledge that it should have been the female who just walked through the door, and judging by the looks and smell, whom Sam had just fucked, that they ought to be dousing the holy water upon.

Ruby and Sam.

It scared Dean, that his initial animosity towards Ruby had in part to do with how much she replaced him in Sam's life. How much jealousy in Sam's affection towards Ruby. Sam was banging her on a repetitive basis for Christ's sake!

Besides, he owed it to Cas, to not have Sam as the sole thing that ever mattered in his life.

It was with such comprehension that when Sam busted in (and Dean suspected was intentional) upon him on his knees in front of some dude (floppy hair, trench coat) at a dingy bar toilet, Dean simply bellowed at Sam to "shut your cakehole and get out". Sam gave his classic bitchface and refused to budge.

Everything had a wrongness to it. The handprint on his arm itched, as if it was different and shouldn't be there. Sam just felt _wrong_ , like something about him so intangible Dean could not put a finger to, which in itself was alarming. Events occurred in a way Dean felt was totally messing with his head.

Life went on.

Dean vaguely knew they met Cas trying to find out what raised him out of Hell. But Pamela was already dead. And it's been months since he came back. Maybe it's just going to happen later, right? The details of every event changed, after all.

Demons lie, right? And he's topside now. That had got to mean something, hadn't it?


	4. Rewind: 2009

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dub-con! The dubious aspect is rather mild, but just to play safe I’m putting a warning. So yes, be warned.

They...Dean waited. Cas never showed up. Dakota, Kansas, Missouri, even near the border at Washington DC. Cas just did not show up.

He missed Cas. It was the typical "only learning to treasure someone when you've lost them" scenario. Not that they would ever be romantically involved had the angel decided to miraculously show up. But at least Dean could promise not to disappoint the angel as he did the previous round.

If he recalled hard enough, Dean knew all the know-hows. However without Castiel's powers, it was like a motorboat without its engine. Paddling against a furious current only got one so far. The seals were broken far too quickly for anyone's liking. And circumstances entailed he could not stop Sam from being the one to break the last.

The weathered stones of the chapel reminded Dean of Transylvania and those old, abandoned mines of bygone eras. Watching Ruby collapse, watching the ground rumble as light shone through. Watching as history re-enacted. Dean was numb. Like some insignificant termite, doing his utmost to stop this entire event from unfolding, yet his actions so feeble they might as well be negligible in face of something so catastrophic. Dean knew something drastic had to be done if he did not want to wind up on the same old path.

Zachariah approached him not at Sioux Falls, but Minnesota. Still, Dean was transported to the Green Room. Same difference.

All that gold really hurt his eyes. Strange, though, was the different tune upon the fiddle the angel played. No longer was it their roles in the apocalypse. But just a simple chat on Cas. Testimony on how differently Heaven was affected.

According to Zachariah the Mark would slowly grind away his soul whenever he used the Blade. And the more Dean used the First Blade the more he would grow reliant upon it, increasingly unable to depart. A vicious cycle, really. Slowly twisting his soul till there's not a hint of humanity left. A hunter, to something that ought to be hunted.

He was told Castiel had sacrificed his entire "existence" in order to turn back time, the clear implications left hanging in the ensuring silence. Zachariah told him, "Do not disgrace Castiel's sacrifice by repeating your mistakes of letting petty concerns get the better of you."

When asked about God, the angel was cryptic, "Even father cannot resurrect him."

That evening, Dean drowned himself in alcohol. Made an eye at someone, exchanged a few looks, and got a room. In all honesty Dean did not even register the other party's gender. It was all those baby blues. Should be a girl. Sam didn't interrupt nor did he attempt to, like he did those last few times Dean had hook-ups with guys.

Dean got the _real_ reason when he got back to the motel. Sam literally _pounced_ him. Dean found himself unceremoniously thrown onto the bed. He was so disoriented he could not even properly react less fight Sam off. Not that he could actually get the Sasquatch to back off at any rate. Dean was fairly certain he pulled the "big brother" card sometime between when Sam divested him of his clothes and when Sam stabbed a lubed finger inside his rear, half-hearted as his protests were. Sam steadfast ignored him. Dean simply did not want to care anymore. Helpless, like when he saw Lucifer rise. Whenever he heard any mention of Cas he knew he could never see the angel, ever again.

The next morning Dean awoke alone in bed. His clothes were gone. Sam was gone. They never talked about that night.

They had a few more hunts, tried desperately to restore the dynamic they once had. Then in Pennsylvania, Zachariah approached Dean a second time.

"Don't bother. I'll say yes." Dean sighed, looked blankly at a far wall. The shine of gold seemed to have dimmed somewhat.

He's tired of feeling helpless as he was. Something drastic needed to be done. And it was not like he would get any further chance apart from this. He saw what Sam did with Lucifer. Might as well take the chance. Sam may have all the brains, but right now? Dean's the "been there, done that" guy.

Dean even managed a sigh of relief. They were nowhere near Missouri. Before, when they went Missouri after his little session with Zachariah, Jo and Ellen met their demises.

Being possessed by an archangel felt akin to being locked up in solitary confinement. A windowless black box neglected in the far corner of a busy commercial building. Then as it got longer it felt like being transferred to an ordinary cell. One saw what went around oneself, yet was unable to participate. Thus Dean could only watch in horror as Sam hunted down Lucifer with Bobby and the Harvelles, colt in hand. As the hellhounds surrounded the building. As Jo laid dying in her mother’s arms. As Ellen pulled the trigger.

As Michael refused to do anything.

Anger built.

But if nothing else, each incident only further fuelled Dean on. He seemed to be getting better.

What mattered was the final showdown. More than anything, Dean wanted to say, "Hey Sammy, regaining control of your body wasn't as difficult as you made it seem!" However he knew with too much clarity the person in front of him was not his little Sammy. That without angelic powers, he was no match for Lucifer. Had Lucifer successfully killed him, all was for naught.

So Dean grabbed, and he leapt.

Dean must have blacked out on the way down. He woke to someone frantically calling his name. As doll-like lashes fluttered, he met with familiar hazel gaze, concern deep within their depths. Distantly, he heard furious howls and eerie screeches that sounded like nails over chalkboard, deep within the pitch darkness. Dean could only grab onto his brother tightly, tried his best to shield his little brother from whatever elements that may befall them.

"Don't worry, Sammy. I'll keep you safe."  _I've already dug my way out of the Purgatory once. We'll find a way out, somehow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand DONE!  
> I hereby wish for someone to write something whereby Sam takes care of Dean after they're dug out of Hell. *waits*


End file.
